


The Difference An Elfling Makes

by AcrosstheTallGreenRiver



Series: The Difference An Elfling Makes [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Book/Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Confused Company, Elfling Legolas, Gen, He's physically 9 or 10, I'm ignoring that Elves are physically grown at 50, Legolas is still growing, Protective Royal Family, Protective Woodelves, Thranduil is a good Adar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-08-29 18:39:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8500954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcrosstheTallGreenRiver/pseuds/AcrosstheTallGreenRiver
Summary: We know nothing of what Legolas was doing during the hobbit. What if it was because he was still a child at the time? What could have happened then?





	1. Intoduction

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if I'll continue this but if I do updates will be sporadic at best.
> 
> I'm not Tolkien. This is for practice and fun.

**Introduction**  

 

The forest of Greenwood had been darkened into Mirkwood, becoming a dangerous place to travel through, not to say anything about dwelling there. The trees, once so vibrant and beautiful, had been corrupted into a darkened version of their former selves. Odd magic twisted travelers perception, leaving them vulnerable to the spiders that preyed on travelers and the wood's inhabitants alike. With these new dangers, few dared to travel through the darkened forest, trails once so well trodden upon became deserted and fell into neglect. 

With the corruption of their home the Woodelves fought against the darkened creatures, and it forged them into dangerous warriors. Their energies concentrated on purging the evil from their beloved _Eryn Galen_ , refusing to leave her in this dark time.

The memories of Elves are long and their perception of time was odd to mortals, for though it had been well over a thousand years since their battle begun it seemed not as long as it did to the other races. Men and Dwarves, however have not the memories of Elves, for many lifetimes had passed for them. The magnificence of Greenwood was forgotten by them, and only Mirkwood was known to them. It had become a place to fear, something to be told at night with nothing but fright, and with it any who dwelled there, including the Elves. With Mirkwood becoming a dark place to mortals few dared to enter it, and knowledge of the paths through it, lost to them. Maps of the forest were few and the information outdated, nature having changed many things. 

The Silvan and Sindar of Mirkwood were thus almost completely isolated. Their relations with other Elven realms were strained, their unique situation causing contact to be very difficult to maintain. Their closest allies were the Men of Laketown, they had become friends with the Elves, having traded for generations, they too feared entering the woods.

But not all of the forest had been corrupted, for where the Elven-King's Halls lay, the surrounding area was bright and free of the darkness tainting the rest of their beloved woods. To the WoodElves it became a constant reminder of how their home once was, it gave them hope of one day seeing their forest as it had been. 

It was not, however, their only reason.

Even with their home darkened, they were a merry people finding joy in even the smallest of things. Their greatest source of happiness was their youngest Prince. He had been a great surprise to all, none more so than the royal family. Once the initial shock had passed, it gave away to wild happiness and concern. Their home, after all, was no longer the safe environment for an elfling to be raised in. Loath though they were to bring a child into the dark wood, the King and Queen were determined and swore to do everything to keep the babe safe. 

And so it was a warm summer day that greeted Legolas Thranduilion as he entered the world. To his family, and the kingdom he was perfect. He had inherited his mother's kind, beautiful green eyes, while his hair was golden, a mixture of his father's silver and his mother's warm brown. The elfling brought much love and happiness to the King's Halls, an air of bliss that had not been felt since the other royal children had been young. 

Legolas was a bright and merry child, flitting through corridors as his sweet laughter echoed around him, bringing smiles to even the most hardened warriors. He renewed their hope and allowed them to see the world with young eyes once again.

It was easy to love Legolas, and for that love they were protective. For they were Elves and they cherished all children, and with their own they were ferocious in their protection of them. They would do anything to keep their youngest Prince safe, for he was a welcome balm to their weary _fëa_. 

None were more protective than his family, of which only remained three. His older brothers and Father, who may not always have time to spare for him, but who loved him all the same. Just as he did them, and he treasured the moments he did have with them. His favorite moments were when they regaled him with tales of his mother and oldest brother. 

His mother, the Elven-Queen Laivelithaniel – he was told – was a fierce warrior, skilled in the bow and could shoot even the most difficult of targets.

 _But_ , his Ada would whisper into his ear, _she was the kindest elleth I have ever known. She did not hesitate to point out my_ _misjudgments as others would, she even argued with me the first day we met. I fell in love with her then and it took me years to win her love but it was worth it. Remember Legolas if you love someone you must fight for them._

Arbellason, his eldest brother, had been a skilled swordsman and a great tactician. Valiant and proud was he, who though looked much like Laivelithaniel took more after Thranduil in personality. He had been lost in The Last Alliance of Elves and Men, along great with two-thirds of their troops including the first King of Greenwood, Oropher.

Legolas however knew not that, instead he was told tales of the mischief he got into as an elfling dragging his younger brother along. _He would have adored you, and I can only imagine the chaos the two of you would cause. When we one day leave for the Blessed Realm is the day that the two of you wreck havoc on us all,_ was always said by the eldest of his brothers still in Arda. 

He had seen portraits of both, the son being taller than the mother, hair the same shade of brown. _He looks just like her_ , Legolas would think, _only he has Ada's_ _eyes and she has mine_. He knew that the woman was his _Naneth_ but his memory of her was faint and he had none of Arbellason. He loved them all the same and sometimes he would imagine actually speaking with them, as opposed to looking at painted versions of them. 

His second eldest brother, Taurvantian, was one of their best warriors and an elven captain. He had a mind for strategy and a will to protect those he loved, making for a rather formidable elf. Though he was a seasoned fighter he was also kindhearted and could be mischievous, helping his youngest brother with a trick or two. Playful though he could be one should not question his intelligence, for while he may not prefer books as his two younger brothers did, he was still very quick in mind. Taurvantian did not take offense if others thought him dim-witted, rather he used it to his advantage. He had not Calameathor’s penchant for politics, but he often managed to negotiate things in the Elves favor.

 _He has Ada's_ _eyes_ , Legolas would tell others, _and he was as sweet as his honey coloured hair_ _._ Taurvantian was the one who helped Legolas improve his aim with the bow, and would sneak him a biscuit or two when he had bad days. 

Calamaethor, the third eldest, was one of their best healers and an excellent diplomat, with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. Both of which aided him well in his pursuits, more of scholar than a warrior, dangerous of a different kind than Taurvantian. Though he was skilled with wielding daggers and knives, a skill he up took when he was attacked by a spider. It had changed him, and though he continued on as a healer he had demanded to learn how to defend himself.

 _He looks just like Ada_ , would say Legolas, _but he has Nana's smile,_ he would observe from the portraits. Calamaethor always helped him in his studies if he asked for it, and he was patient and kind. They shared a love of climbing trees and of creating melodies with the birds. 

Thranduil himself was a loving father, if one with too few time to always be there for his child.

 _But_ _that was okay,_ Legolas would tell him, _you are always there when I really need you_ _to_ _be._ And it was more than enough for Legolas for he understood that his Adar was the King, who had a kingdom to rule. Of which Thranduil was grateful for, he would hate having his son feeling unimportant or neglected, when he cherished him and his brothers. He held his sons close, for they were the last living thing he had of his precious wife. 

In the same way that Legolas loved them, they did him. His family was protective over their youngest, as all families were, for he helped bring light into their world. Even in the darkest of times Legolas refused to let it darken his spirit and he refused to let it dampen theirs. His laughter and joy gave them their own, and his wonder at the world let them truly appreciate it once more. None were perfect, not even Elves, but Legolas made them want to try. He brought them together, whether in worry or happiness he was theirs. 

Their Prince. Their son. Their brother. Their elfling. Their lone green leaf in the darkened wood.

~ o0o ~

**Laivelithaniel (Lye-ray-lee-thonn-ee-ell) "Meadow of ash trees" - brown hair, green eyes**

**Arbellason (Are-behl-lah-son) "Noble Strength" - Brown hair, blue eyes**

**Taurvantian (Towr-vahn-tee-ahn) "Forest Walker" - honey blonde hair, blue eyes**

**Calamaethor (Kah-lah-my-thore) "Bright Warrior" - Silver hair, blue eyes**


	2. Feast Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last minute preparations, reminiscing and Legolas does not like his robes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Dedication](http://newboards.theonering.net/forum/gforum/perl/gforum.cgi?do=post_view_printable;post=325401;guest=126945806), right there, and a reference I am using for this story.

 

**Feast Preparation**

 

The Halls were positively brimming with life, servants were milling about arranging things to perfection, cooks hurrying about cooking and baking in abundance, the various smells intertwining to create a mouthwatering aroma that drifted out into the halls, tickling many noses. An air of excitement buzzed in every corner of the stronghold, whispers passed between the elves, anticipation for the many delights that were to come in the evening.

This was after all the Autumn Feast, one of the most festive events of the year, where they would feast and merry-make under their beloved stars. Even with their high spirits they did not tarry, they still had their duties to attend to, and they were not exempt from them even with the upcoming feast. That was fine for them, for they were elves, and they were, perhaps the most patient of the races.

“Is it almost time now?”

However, like all races, their children could be the most impatient of all. 

“Not until _anor_ has almost left the sky, then it shall begin.”

A small huff of breath escaped the Prince's mouth at the answer, but he did not complain as other children might have, instead he turned his attention to his current activity.

A small piece of charcoal was held in his small hand, faint smudges of black and grey evident on his white skin, of which he paid no mind to. His nursemaid however did, and knew that a bath would be in order later. Ignorant of this, the child continued on drawing, his eyebrows knit in concentration, striving for perfection. 

Tegaladwen could only watched her charge with amused affection, her young Prince was always so endearing, even when he was not actively trying to be. When he was trying he was much too adorable to deny, so much so that he could often sweep others away on an imagined adventure with no complaints. At least the one he had dragged with him, many others – mostly those left to clean up – complained about the resulting trouble he always managed to cause. Thankfully it was only for those who were in trouble themselves, or had been sent to teach them a lesson, so they were ignored more often than not. Though it always amused Tegaladwen how many Elven-Lords and Ladies crumbled at Legolas’s wide eyes, no one was immune, not even the Elven-King. He was perhaps the one most affected by it, and none could blame him for giving in, but even more applauded him when he soldiered through if Legolas deserved a punishment. He was a good father not a spoiling one, he wanted the best for them and if that included having to be strict every now and again, then so be it. 

She respected him for it, she too knew how hard it was to resist, but she also had to admire her Prince's cleverness. He was unpredictable and he had slipped away from her when he was younger, before he had become fond of her.

As one of the child's primary caretakers one would think that she would have a better understanding of his mind and thoughts. Children, despite what many thought, were actually quite complex, their minds making connections and conclusions that an adult mind would find absurd or impossible. Children had such a large imagination and such creativity that adults no longer had, it was difficult to predict the actions for a mortal child. An elven child was infinitely more difficult. Their minds matured much more quickly than their mortal counterparts, but even if they could understand what mortal children could not, they still had the personality of a child. Their judgement was often ignored for fun and enjoyment, the child may be elven but they were still a child, needing the guidance and love of a parent. 

“I completed it! Would you like to see?” 

Bright eyes looked up at her, all but shining with earnest . A smile lit his entire face as she carefully took his drawing and looked upon it with seriousness. Her admiration and complements was no lie or exaggeration. Legolas was gifted in capturing the life when he drew, making it breathtakingly beautiful to any who saw his work. This one was no different and she was sure if he ever decided to become a maker of art instead of a warrior, as was his current wish, he would have no shortage of requests. 

“Do you think Ada will like it?”

There was apprehension hidden in his sweet voice, he always wished to give only his best to his family, anything less was not acceptable. He should not worry, even if he had not been gifted with making art, his brothers and father would have treasured it all the same. She said it not, for her Prince only wanted reassurance, which she gave him, assuring him that King Thranduil would love it. A warm feeling blossomed in the Nanny’s heart as she was answered with a blinding smile, dimples making the child's face that much more adorable. 

She returned his smile with a soft, loving one before she shooed him away, “You may go play, as your lessons have ended for the day. Do not go making trouble, everyone is rather busy with the last preparations for the feast. Understood?” 

Legolas was quick to agree, excitably leaving his chambers off to look for a playmate.

Alone now, Tegaladwen took a small moment of peace, before she determinedly went to prepare her Prince's outfit for the feast. She would need to find his circlet, the right robe, the appropriate flowers, and prepare him a bath. 

_Now, where has he hidden his formal clothes?_

~ o0o ~ 

The Elven-King's library, while not as vast as the one from Imaldris, was still very impressive with its extensiveness.

Shelves upon shelves were filled with all manner of books, scrolls, tomes and maps that one could hardly see the walls. Plush chairs and sturdy tables placed strategically around for whomever had decided to visit that particular day. The library itself was never cloaked in darkness, on the contrary it was lit with the natural light of the sun and moon making the room seem aglow. 

The Library was a calming place, somewhere one could read and just be in total tranquility. It was for that very reason that Calamaethor adored it so, from the smell of parchment and aged books to the total silence, making it one of his favorite places of the palace. It was here that he went when he could spare a moment for peace, rare though it was. 

He did not complain over his workload, for he loved being a healer and his people and he would do anything required of him. If it meant that he had little time for himself he did not mind, he was well used to it. He was only glad that he was not the Crown Prince or the King, they had even less time than he. At times he was bitter over it, more so when he was younger, always wondering why he had to study so much when others his age did not, but he had come to understand his duties as he grew. It had made him appreciate the time he did have for himself, and the time he had with his family altogether was precious. 

A sharp wave of grief hit Calamaethor when his mind traitorously reminded him that not _all_ of his family was with him.

Oropher, Arbellason, and Laivelithaniel were no longer with them and it burned something inside him that he would not see them until he reached Valinor. He missed them, longed for things that had once been possible, Oropher's strong – yet gentle – embraces as he told them tales of his youth.  His oldest brother's kind eyes as he played with them, making time for his younger brothers between all his duties. His mother's smile and laughter, her steady presence when they asked _where were Grandfather and Arbellason?_  Her death perhaps devastated him the most, no matter how horrible he felt at the thought, her departure had hit them the hardest. With the Elven-Queen's departure a wave of grief engulfed the kingdom, leaving her husband and elder two sons but shells of their former selves. It had taken much for them to even begin recovering, their spirits having been brought low. 

In the end their concern for their youngest member – he had been little more than a babe at the time – and their duty for their people had given them a purpose, some thing that had distracted them for a time. The wound would never truly heal, it may scab over and scar, but they could once more find joy, where before there was none. 

Though it would always sadden him that his only younger sibling would never know their mother. Legolas was too young at the time to know what was going on, being only the young age of three, he had not understood where _Naneth_ had gone, asking daily when she was coming back. Until his inquiries faded and he remembered less and less of her, then his only memories of her being a vague remembrance of her face and a lullaby she had regularly sung to him. It was one of the reasons that they pushed passed the grief to speak of her, they wanted Legolas to know her if he could not remember her. 

_“Calamaethor, Is there something_ _bothering you?”_

Pushing away his thoughts of the past – it was difficult, many elves could get lost in time and memories – he turned towards the voice. 

Blue eyes, identical to his own, were watching him in concern. It almost made him huff in amusement, Taurvantian was ever a worrier, quick to wrap you up if you seemed even the slightest bit ill, but he meant well. For that reason alone he endured his brother's worries and protectiveness. 

“You should not worry brother, I was simply reminiscing. Though I will admit that I am feeling cautious…I hope there will be no difficulties later.” 

At Taurvantian's puzzled look, Calamaethor resisted rolling his eyes – a prince did not roll one's eyes, even as he was tempted to do so daily – honestly his elder brother could be so dense at times. 

“Have you honestly forgotten what happened last year to our younger brother? While it was mildly amusing, I will admit, Adar looked ready to free someone's head from their shoulders.”

Understanding was clear on the Crown Prince's face before he winced as he recalled last year's ...activities. A faint smile, however, broke through giving him a rather odd expression.

It had his younger brother inwardly snorting, outwardly his expression stayed much the same, cold yet tranquil. 

“Ah, that, yes that I remember. I had actually managed to forget, or rather purposely forgot, and I was glad to. It might have been amusing, at least for us, Adar on the other hand was furious. It almost made me pity the poor elves, they deserved their punishment, full of wine or not, they are only lucky that Legolas recalls none of it.”

“What do I not recall?”

Honey-hued hair whipped through the air as the owner almost violently turned to set his wide eyes upon his youngest brother. Who only stared up at him with large, questioning eyes from his place behind his chair.

Legolas would not get his answer, as Taurvantian only stared at him uncomprehending.

“How did you manage to sneak up on me!?”

Soft silvery laughter came from Calamaethor as he walked past his seated brother and stooped low to pick up his only younger sibling. 

“An elven-warrior caught off his guard? My, you really must start training more, especially if our _honeg_ managed to startle you.” 

Turning away from his flushed brother, to the innocent face of the other. Gifting the younger with a smile, that was so very rare outside his family, the elf-child beamed back unaware once more of The Incident from the previous festivities.

“Was there something specific that you were searching for, 'las? I would not mind helping you if you need it.”

_More so when I remember you trying to climb up the shelves to reach a book._

That had give Beridhren, a rather young library aide, quite a fright, more so when he saw who it was climbing ever higher from the ground. The young – in his twenties at the time – Prince had been given a stern talking to and his dessert was withheld from him for two days. For all that elflings mentally matured faster, they were still very much children with all the mischief and worry that they inflicted on their elders. Legolas may have outgrown his need to climb everything but had now entered his independent phase, where he insisted he could do everything by himself. 

They were all dreading his adolescent years… wagers were already placed on who would lock their Prince in his room 'for his safety' first. Unsurprisingly, Thranduil was in the lead. 

“No, my studies were ended earlier as my tutors are busy for the night's feast. I was looking for someone to play with but everyone is too busy. I've visited the stables and talked with Ada's elk, and helped the cooks make tarts, but they said they needed to make more complicated food and I left.Would you like to play with me?”

Green eyes looked into his own with hope, he loved those eyes even as they pained him to stare into them. The same was true for his father, and at times, his older brother.

The healer did not let this show on his face, it remained as impassive as ever, even as he denied being able to play with the child. His heart constricted at the utterly disappointed look – but he truly had no time his small break was almost over – instead he suggested Legolas ask if Tegaladwen if she would play with him. 

Legolas merely nodded as he was set on his feet, silently leaving the library. His elder brothers watched him, their eyes unwavering in their intensity, their last sight of him being his golden hair as he rounded a corner of shelves.  

~ o0o ~

Legolas very much disliked having to wear such formal clothing, if it had been a tunic and leggings he would not have minded overmuch, for at least then he would be able to run and climb freely. Instead he was fitted into a silk green robe, his golden hair was free from its usual braids and was twined with flowers – most being white – with a [small circlet](http://orig14.deviantart.net/97bc/f/2009/288/6/9/headpiece_circlet_headband_by_elnaraniall.jpg) sat on his brow. The small elfling looked every inch an Elven-Prince – but he cared not for the clothing felt constrictive and there was no comfort wearing them. 

He said nothing of his feelings, for he was old enough to understand what was expected of him during these events. He dearly loved attending the Autumn Feast though he wished he could wear something less lavish for them, he'd much rather be it his favored green and brown garb he normally wore. In these events, however, he was a Prince first and must look like one. 

So he endured, even ignoring his Nursemaid's cooing over him, that was the other reason he disliked dressing like this. Everyone was always commenting over how 'pretty' and 'endearing' he looked. He disliked the attention and he wished they would cease voicing their comments. 

“Come along my Prince, we do not wish to keep your father waiting.”

Obediently following the elleth out of his bedchambers he was greeted to the sight of his elder brothers. Both were dressed similarly to their brother, with only a few differences between each. 

As it was the Autumn Feast they were donned in their more simple formal attire. Each wore a green robe, Legolas' being the lightest and Calameathor’s being the darkest, and though they looked simple they were made from silk and rippled with every step they took. Green gems circled the throats of the elder two, contrasting with their white skin. Flowers were twined in their loose hair, blue and purple were vibrant in [Calameathor’s](http://www.camiasdesigns.com/images/circlets/woodland-ivy-crown.jpg) silver locks, orange and green graced [Taurvantian's](http://www.kellygrahamdesigns.com/images/jewelry/circlets/C181a4.jpg) honey-coloured hair, white and yellow sat proudly in Legolas's golden tresses. They each wore their circlets, all with leaves cunningly wrought, with the two eldest having a single gem in the center. 

The royals had a look of shared suffering before they hid it away and donned their 'Prince' faces. Something that they had cultivated for infuriating diplomats, who even irritated their father daily. If King Thranduil could not stand them, having dealt with more representatives then they had, his sons had little chance of doing so. Tegaladwen smiled at the two elder Princes before she bowed and departed, her own brown robe moving softly with her every step.

~ o0o ~

As they entered their sitting room – a mixture of browns, greens and whites – they were greeted with the sight of their Adar. Clad in garb identical to his sons, with the only differences being that his robe was layered with different shades of green making it seem to change with every step he took. Red and violet flowers stood out in Thranduil's silver locks, atop of which sat a [crown](http://www.kellygrahamdesigns.com/images/jewelry/circlets/C294a1.jpg) that, like his sons', had carved leaves with a single green gem in the center.

Startling blue eyes swept over them critically, before a look of pride overcame his face. 

“My sons, you all look wonderful.”

They truly did, his children looked handsome in whatever they wore and he was only thankful that none had objected. He knew they cared not for their more formal wear, but he was glad that they had endured it, if for no other reason than for his approval and that it was required for the feast

“Come. Let me have a closer look at all of you.”

Strong slim hands gently straightened Taurvantian's circlet, tucked a few stray strands of hair behind Calameathor’s ear and smoothed down the front of Legolas's robe. Lowering himself to his youngest level he gripped small shoulders as those green eyes looked at him questioningly. Love – _and the_ _accompanying pain_ – was familiar as he gazed into his son's – _wife's_ – eyes with seriousness.

“Now 'las I do not want you to accept, or attempt to sneak, anything from the adult tables. No wandering off alone, and absolutely do **not** drink any of the wine. Understood?”

“Yes Adar.”

Looking over his children one last time, and finding nothing amiss nodded his approval, and as one they left to join the feast. 

~ o0o ~ 

**Tegaladwen (Teh-GAH-lahd-wehn) "Bringing Light" - Black hair, Grey Eyes**

**Beridhren (Bear-ee-threnn) "Wise Protection" - Brown hair, Brown Eyes**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Sindarin:**  
>  **Anor - Sun**  
>  **Honeg - brother/ (possibly meaning )younger brother**
> 
>  
> 
> This one, like my other story, will have elements of both the book and movie. I don't think I'll add Tauriel but who knows maybe I'll change my mind. I'm not really happy with this chapter, I've edited it multiple times and I'm still not happy. Tell me what you all thought, and hopefully my next update will be better. I love feedback and please give constructive criticism.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read this. Special thanks to CerenJules for being the first bookmarker, pmhw first kudos and to delaire for also bookmarking.
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://acrossthetallgreenriver.tumblr.com/)


	3. The Autumn Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry-making while Thranduil has thoughts. Meanwhile Legolas speaks to the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays! Here's my present to you all, hopefully you enjoy it.

**The Autumn Feast**

 

The clearing that had been chosen for the night's activities was not over large which was not necessary. It was just extensive enough to comfortably fit a couple dozen elves, large trees surrounded them only allowing a faint light from the fire and torches to escape between them. The clearing itself had been cleaned of fallen branches and any other such obstacles making way for a single long table laden with such a wide variety of food – some known to us such as roasted meats and sweet pastries, but there was many more that would seem strange to us as they were purely elven foods that has been lost to the world – that a Hobbit could eat his fill and there would still be quite a bit left. Lyrical voices and tinkling laughter combined with soft strumming of harps to form a rather beautiful sound. 

If any mortal had happened upon the Elves, they would think it magical for surely they had stepped into another world to witness such a marvelous sight. And perhaps they would be right, for the Wood Elves wielded some strange magic to keep them safe in the darkness of the forest. That same magic brought them comfort, for the Elves of Mirkwood were a rather suspicious people and it was difficult for them to even think of not staying alert in their dangerous woods. However they were safe this night as their precautions would not allow any uninvited guests to get close into any of the festivities. 

Safe with this knowledge, the Elves were well and truly relaxed. Laughter and songs escaped their lips, bodies twirled together in a dance known only to them, bowls of food exchanged hands, altogether forming quite a picture. 

Through it all their King watched with a smile upon lips, eyes alight with the light of the fire. It brought him great joy to see his people free of worry, their sole concern on their merriment as opposed to their regular worries, that of the darkness and the ever increasing threat of another war. It had been trying these last few centuries filled with uncertainties and peril, and instead of improving, their situation worsened. When it had first began it seemed manageable, with the spiders being easy to vanquish as they were rather vicious to each other as well as to others. As the years wore on, however, they seemed to become more intelligent forming groups and strategies in order to ensure a meal. From there it became a constant struggle to drive them back, along with the darkness that was tainting their beloved woods. 

_And now, look what has become of us. Hidden in a carven home, away from the animals and trees._

Thranduil while proud that they had survived and adapted – in a way they thrived even with their troubles – was bitter of what they had to sacrifice. 

_All **without** a Ring of Power as well._

That most of all stung to the Sinda, the knowledge that Imaldris and Lothlorien were kept safe without a need to fight for their every moment. He had asked for aid for so long from the so-called 'White Council’ only to be waved away, and how that _**burned**_ him. That they would ignore his concerns and insist that _“it could not be that horrible King Thranduil, I am sure.”_

As if they knew his kingdom better than _he._  

“Would you like some wine Adar?” 

Taurvantian looked upon his King, with well hidden concern, well aware with where his thoughts were. He held a goblet of wine in each hand, eyes intent upon his King observing the small signs that signified Thranduil's annoyance. 

A quiet breath left Thranduil, the only sign of his abrupt interruption from his rather negative thoughts, and graced the other with a smile. A small tilt of his head had his son take a seat beside him, handing the Elven-King a goblet full of wine as he faced him. 

“Thank you, ion-nin.” for something far more than fetching his father drink went unsaid but was understood, “I trust that you are enjoying yourself.”

A broad grin was his answer as his child – for all that he was grown now – fairly beamed at him. A small smile was coaxed from his own unresisting lips at the expression, truly it was as if his son was once again a small elfling begging for more tales. 

“Very much so Adar, it is refreshing to see our people so festive. It brings me great joy to see them so, why I even saw Vanyalanthiriel smiling. Though it was at Legolas so it should not be surprising.”

It should not be indeed, Vanyalanthiriel was a lieutenant in Legolas' Guard and was very fond of him. She was also noted for having one of the most impassive faces in the kingdom third to only Thranduil and Calamaethor. 

“Indeed and much as I appreciate you keeping an eye on your brothers do not spend the entire night troubling yourself. This night is as much for you to relax as our people.”

Taking an absentminded sip of his wine, he savored the heady flavor that assaulted his tongue. From the year 2160 T.A. – a rather good year all things considered – if he was to guess, and he was rarely wrong about his wine. 

“I could say the same of you Adar, I know that you have worries – as we all do – but you also deserve to enjoy yourself.” The words were spoken only loud enough for Thranduil to hear, of which the King was grateful for. It would not do for the King to appear unhappy in a feast meant to lighten the atmosphere for them all. 

Thranduil, regardless of what anyone said, was a good king – the greatest one that Greenwood would ever know – and he could not just silence the worries that he had for the kingdom. It was impossible to, for any kind of leader always worried over the well-being of those in their care. He was no different, apprehension constantly clawing away at his mind – his worries had only grown when he felt two separate feasts being moved prematurely. The protective magic only went to such extremes when some thing uninvited tried to join. It was extremely unlikely that it had been any of the Free People who just happened to stumble upon their merry making. Thus it only left either the blasted spiders – perhaps a few especially idiotic orcs? – or some enemy that was yet unknown to them. He had already sent warnings, and taken more precautions if the intruders decided to try their luck once again. 

He was understandably not in the right spirits to revel in the festivities as he normally was. 

“Adar? Are you well?” It was Calamaethor who asked this, having arrived with bowls filled with various foods. Most of which contained some of his favored dishes, Thranduil could not help but note with faint amusement. Truly his children worried over his well-being as if he was their child, as if he needed to be reminded to eat. But perhaps he could momentarily let his worries rest – he would not ignore them, that could very well end in disaster – at least for a meal with his children.

They deserved at least that much. 

“I am well my sons, you need not concern yourself overmuch. Truly I am well, merely pondering, that however can wait I am sure. Could one of you fetch your younger brother so we may begin?” Another sip was taken, _hmm I must remember to praise Galion for his choice. Valar knows how long it would have taken otherwise._

~ o0o ~ 

Small hands rested fondly upon the dark trunk of a particular towering tree, communing with it as only Elves could. The aged tree regaling the child with tales that it had been witness to, whispering of things that once were, of bright warm days that had once gently washed over it. Through it all Legolas listened, large eyes bright with happiness, delighting in the soft words. The small elfling was content there, seated upon the ground as he was and no doubt dirtying his elegant robe.

None would look for him for a while having already greeted all of the attendants, even talking with a few, but they had all eventually drifted away. He did not mind, he was well used to it, after all they were all much older than he. He had enjoyed conversing with his kin, but he was the youngest – the closest to his age were still several hundreds of years his elder – leaving him with limited companions.

The trees, however, alleviated the loneliness that he felt when he had none to accompany him. He was in a way isolated – not intentionally of course – having none close in age to converse with leaving him, he had no friends that he could interact with on equal footing. If it was not his age hindering him, it was his station that intimidated others from him. 

The trees were constant companions, they cared not of his social standing or age, simply delighting in his company. Legolas treasured it, speaking regularly with many of the ones inhabiting and surrounding the palace, becoming a friend to them that not many became. He had learned how to speak as they did, imitating them so well that many trees thought he was as they were. 

So deep was he in thoughts that the faint crunching of leaves startled him into breaking his connection with the great tree, straining to catch the noise once again. Nothing but silence reached his keen ears, stretching for so long the boy had convinced himself he had been mistaken. Shaking his head lightly, the child reach out his hand towards his speaking companion.

_**~ Crunch ~** _

The hand halted, hovering an inch or so from its former resting place on the dark bark. Indecision warred in the lad's mind, he had been warned against crossing into the dark woods without another, however he was so very tempted to investigate for the cause of the noise – you must remember that he was very much still young and prone to making rash decisions – of which he knew was a horrid action. Teeth bit into the soft pink of the Prince's bottom lip uncertainty, he _should_ inform one of the others of the sound – or even ignore the noise all together. His more adventurous side (his Silvan side, his Adar would later bemoan) urged him to search for it.

Through it all the sound of crushing leaves became ever louder, hurried steps uncaring that they were giving their position away. Head slightly cocked, Legolas could discern more than one set of steps hurrying about – if he was to guess he would say perhaps twelve or thirteen. Curiosity at last overcoming his good sense, he stood from his previous seated position and lightly dusting the back of his robe. 

Nodding to himself, he turned towards the forest determination lining his body – his would find the perpetrators of that noise. Though the sound of the steps were mostly gone by now, being replaced by the faint shuffle of feet and crushing of the same leaves. Which was odd, perhaps they had stopped for a rest while the more restless ones dragged their feet in boredom? 

It was only when he turned his attention towards the approximate place did he know he was wrong. For there hidden behind trees were fourteen pairs of eyes, all watching him with various degrees of awed surprise. 

~ o0o ~

**Vanyalanthiriel (Vahn-gah-lahn-theer-ee-el) “Beautiful Waterfall” – Black hair, grey eyes – She is a part of Legolas' Guard**


	4. An Unexpected Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas meets the weary travelers. Compassion gets the better of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the hardest to write and I'm not really altogether pleased with it, but I've edited and rewritten it so many times I figure this is the best I'll be able to do. Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy it.

 

**An Unexpected Meeting**

 

_Why had they not heeded the wizard's words?_

All about them dark trees loomed, their large branches blocking much needed light from reaching the forest floor. They could see nothing that distinguished one direction from the other, nothing that would lead them back to the Elven Path. They had searched in vain for hours – **days** – for the path they had strayed from, only to find nothing. They were now reaping the consequence for their foolhardy decision as they were now lost in the twisting darkness of Mirkwood. 

Worse still, they had not even a crumb of food to show for it. 

_Hunger has a horrible way of making one desperate_ , mused Bilbo, rather dispirited, his shoulders hunched, as he followed after the others, who were in a rather similar state to himself, _even so far that it would make one run off towards mysterious lights in the wood._

But what a sight it had been!

Song and revelry filling the clearing, bliss and exuberance clear upon fine-boned features. 

He had been perplexed, unsure _why_ the Elves were feasting – why they would do so in the Shadow of the forest – and perhaps if he had been less ravenous he would be more curious, but as it stood what had truly caught the hobbit’s notice was the large spread laid out upon the vast table. The temptation had been too great, provoking them into acting rashly, consequently startling the feasters away. 

_How I wish to have been able to participate._

Pushing such thoughts from his mind, Bilbo hurried after the dwarves, valiantly ignoring his throbbing feet, and consoled himself with the knowledge of resting soon. Though exactly how soon, he had no idea, for light scarcely pierced through the darkness of Mirkwood, making it a struggle to differentiate minutes from hours. 

He wondered why he thought it was a good idea to agree to come on this 'adventure'. 

~ o0o ~

Bilbo could have very well wept in relief, when, at long last – perhaps minutes, perhaps hours later, he could not tell – Thorin declared it time for rest. 

The earth was a mess of jutting roots, dark leaves, and fallen twigs but, uncaring of the area's condition, fourteen forms all but collapsed onto the ground. Relief surging though their sore bodies, so great none felt the need to move for a long while.

It was Oin that eventually stood, though he urged the others to take what rest they could, while he took the first watch. 

He did not travel far, perhaps three feet away at most, seating himself upon a large rock, his gaze turned towards the trees. He was undeterred by the numerous luminous eyes that peered at them, having become accustomed to their frightening presence. 

Bilbo envied his stout heart – he still found them disconcerting, sure that an attack would come at any given moment. 

As he lay there, jagged roots and rough rocks prodding him no matter which way he positioned himself, his stomach gave a pang of hunger. 

Ignoring it was a struggle, as was the search for rest, which seemed to elude them all. Eventually their bodies were too tired to keep them awake, and fitful though it was, they slept. 

~ o0o ~

Hours pass and their turns on watch consisted of searching in vain for even the smallest hint of a light. None were successful, leaving them despondent. 

As such it was a surprise when quite late in the night when Kili, just a touch excited, roused them, news of the reappearance of lights and soft music not too far away. 

Unlike their previous encounters they do not immediately head towards it, instead staying upon the earth, the soft sound of voices and harps washing over them. Each pondering the wisdom of trying to head towards it after their last two failed attempts. Ultimately hunger overcame them, and up they went, determined once more, hurriedly making their way to the faint glimmer from between the trees. They quieted their steps as they neared, hoping to go unnoticed.

Once concealed by wide boles, the Company furtively gaped, for the feast laid before them was even grander than before. Slender forms were conversing and feasting, laughter easily falling from unblemished lips. Lissome figures swaying and twirling in time with the hauntingly beautiful melody being strummed by long fingers, as unbound hair fanned around them, flowers of various shades moving not an inch from the long tresses. 

While it was an alluring sight,  Bilbo's attention was fixed upon the Elf that sat at the head of the large table.

It was, of course, the Elven-King, appearing much as Bombur had described; hair the colour of silver, though it gleamed gold under the light of the fire, with flowers of red and violet cleverly woven into the locks. White gems glittered upon his trim waist, the green of his long robe accenting it beautifully. A crown of leaves sat upon his head, worn as Autumn was coming on. He was speaking to another fair-haired elf, a furrow of the King's brows the only indication of his unhappiness.  

Unbidden, his gaze travelled to the generous spread that lay upon the table, and had Bilbo readily forgetting the King and his displeasure. 

Master Baggins had not been the only one to spot King Thranduil, however distracted as they were, none noticed Thorin stiffen. 

Calloused hands tightened into fists as hardened eyes caught view of the ageless face. A scowl pulled harshly at Thorin's lips, no longer willing to witness the Elves celebration, he turned his face away from the sight. It seemed, however, no matter where he turned his gaze there were Elves. Disgusted, Durin's Heir snapped his head towards the left, where at least, his vision was not completely assaulted by the merry beings. 

For a moment his resentment calmed, thoughts momentarily silenced as his gaze, almost lazily, wandered about. Slowly, his body unwound from its stiffened position – only to still.

Blinking once, twice, even going as far as rubbing them – for _surely_ it was simply a figment from his tired mind – the apparition did not disappear. 

Dwalin, ever faithful, was the first to notice their leader's confused gaping, which attracted Balin's attention, which snatched Oin’s and then Gloin's, until all fourteen members stared, captivated.

For not too far away stood a slight and slender figure, pointed ears – partially hidden by gleaming locks with flowers of white and yellow woven throughout –  had their back turned towards the Company, head slightly tilted as if struggling to discern some thing. 

Nothing of the Elf's dress surprised them, no what brought them short was the fair being's stature. An inch or so shorter than Thorin, who was the tallest of them, was something none had thought they would ever view. 

An Elfling. 

Breath stolen, Thorin and his Company stared in awe, and quite a bit of confusion, at the elf-child. Long had it been since a child of the Elves had been seen, and even longer since any of the Mortal Races had laid eyes upon one. As enraptured as they were, they were utterly unprepared when the small form unexpectedly turned towards their exact position. 

Large eyes widened in alarm, and seemed to only grow larger with every figure they landed upon. Nori, Bombur, and Dwalin were subjected to a longer study than the others, drawn to their rather noteworthy features. Though, it seemed, the one that had truly caught the elfling's attention was the burglar. Green orbs lingered upon the mess of brown curls, both upon his head and feet, matted after almost a month without washing, muted curiosity shining in the fine features.

Bilbo could feel his skin flushing under the scrutiny, well aware how disheveled he and his companions were. Clothing, stained by both nature and perspiration – blanketing them in a truly _foul_ odor – was a tad large, attesting to the unwanted weight loss over the last few days. Any visible skin was smudged with dirt, with a scattering amount of superficial wounds in various stages of healing – it almost seemed as if the trees were trying to discourage them. He had become accustomed to appearing so, after months of traveling, but his Good Hobbit Manners were bristling at even being seen at such an elaborate function in such a state. Regardless of not having been invited. 

In contrast the child was immaculate, not a hair out of place, fitted in silken clothing in the most fetching of green – bringing attention to prominent eyes that the child possessed. Which had not moved from their persons, continuing to gaze upon them in suspicious wonder. Too soon, however, they darted quickly away, something like panic in them – searching for the nearest of their kin. They landed upon a pair not too far away, seated upon stumps with silver goblets of wine in hand. Relief shone brightly in those striking orbs, before warily turning towards them, taking hesitant steps back. 

Anxiety was quick to grip the Company's hearts, while they dearly wanted help, what were they to do if the WoodElves perceived them as threats? The child was clearly already on guard with them, and that would undoubtedly influence the elder elves. 

Thorin, in particular, was wary of having a confrontation with any, specifically Thranduil, and hoped to avoid doing so altogether. Steeling himself, Thorin acted upon impulse.

“Greetings child, we mean no harm – we are simply  searching for assistance.” the words were uttered in Common – a gamble, as he was unsure if the child had been taught it – with a throat rough with thirst. 

The young elf halted, appearing a beauteous statue as the youngling stayed unnervingly still in the way only elves could be, assessing the dark-haired dwarf. 

Thorin did the same, his own blue orbs meeting green, resisting the urge to move as he did so. Those eyes were young, free of the weight Thorin was accustomed to seeing from the Fair Folk, though he was just as unnerved by the intensity of it. Elves had a way of looking at you – as if they were laying bare all your secrets, every facet of your life examined – that had one feeling inferior and shaken. He felt it then, from an elf-child younger in both age and body than himself, and hoped that he would pass inspection.

It seemed a small eternity, but none dared move, unsure of what would result in the encounter.

Until at last, the connection between elf and dwarf was broken. Hesitantly, the golden-haired child took a few steps forward, stopping in his previous position, besides a large beech tree. 

“ _Mae_ – Well met, travelers.” The soft voice was unsure, inexperience evident even as the pronunciation itself was perfect, “How did you come upon our Feast?”

“We were not purposely looking for it, or rather we were, but not to do harm. We were seeking aid, for in our foolishness, we strayed from the Elven Path. My Company and I have been wandering for days, and we were relieved to see a sign of others in the dark of the woods.” Clasped hands were kept in the child's sight, Thorin spoke gently – eyes soft in a way that only children could make them. He kept his posture loose, having no desire to frighten the little one, regardless of his personal grudges.

The same was true for his kinsfolk, for Dwarves held children, no matter the race, precious. As such it was unsurprising when their hands moved as far as they could from weapons, when their sturdy frames hunched slightly, endeavoring to appear as unthreatening as possible to the young one. 

Small shoulders loosened marginally in response, “But, why were you coming through Greenwood at all? We rarely ever have visitors, and its even rarer for the visitors to be invited to the Feast.” 

Slender fingers had absently reached upward to twist a silken lock, the honest curiosity of childhood lacing the words. For inviting any to their feast was considered a sign of upmost faith and friendship, long had it been since any had been asked to attend. In fact the last mortal, and person, to have been invited to their feast had been the last Lord of Dale. But that had been more than a century ago, long before the Prince had been born. 

There had been none, since then, deemed close enough to the WoodElves to be invited – and surely if any had Legolas would have at least heard of talk of it. But then, how else could they have found them?

Appearing slightly startled, Thorin hesitated, mouth at odds with his mind. He had been anticipating the child to go running for an adult, voice pitched in panic at having spotted dwarves. With no clear idea of how to proceed – or how to answer the elfling's questions – he stood there, utterly flummoxed at the turn of events. 

Thorin was fortunate that Bilbo had been expecting such a question – he did have numerous young relatives, the Tooks especially, that would spring a question on unsuspecting hobbits – and had thought up a suitable answer. 

“Ah! I do believe I can answer your questions, my companions and I are having a bit of an adventure, you see, to the Blue Mountains to be precise.” 

~ o0o ~

Vibrant eyes narrowed in thought, weighing the man’s words, attempting to trace their path in his mind's eye. They had likely come from the west, how far out the child was unsure, but how had they found the Elven Path? It was well-hidden – and from what his Adar had said – difficult for mortal eyes to uncover, so how was it that thirteen dwarves and a large-footed person find it?

Though _that_ was a mystery in itself just _what_ was said furry-footed person?

Was he a different type of Dwarf? Perhaps it was a female Dwarf? Yes, that seemed right, his tutors all told him that there was not much distinction between male and female dwarves, they even dressed alike! Though…the manner of dress the he wore was not at all like his companions, nor did he look at all like them.  

With the stature of a child, yet possessing the face of a fully grown adult, free of hair save for those upon his head and his large, bare feet.

Whatever he was, Legolas was sure he had never been taught of them in his lessons, for surely he would have remembered a people with such a description. Though he could not help but think he had heard of them…if only he could remember where.

Would it be considered rude to inquire?

_Knowledge is something you should always seek. Question all around you for answers, and if that fails, remember that there are other sources to find it._

Calamaethor was always quick to tell him so, and what better source than the very person he knew had the answers?

~ o0o ~

While Legolas had been lost in thought, the others had waited anxiously for the verdict. And so you can imagine their emotional state when the child finally acknowledged them once more.

“I know you thirteen are dwarves, but I am confused on what your companion is. Is he another kind of dwarf or a female dwarf? If she is I am sorry for referring to you as a he.” Utterly apologetic, the elfling turned towards the 'female dwarf', hoping that he had not offended anyone.

Dumbfounded, that that was what the child had chosen to focus on, they remained silent, wondering at the logic of children. 

Bilbo could not help but be offended yet it gave away to amusement as he took in the faces of the others. He was unsure if they more flummoxed or insulted that dwarven women had been compared to a middle-aged gentlehobbit. 

“You believe that our women look like _him_?!”  

Red-faced, Gloin strived to keep his temper, reminding himself that the elfling did not know any better. 

Either disregarding or ignorant of this, Legolas returned his questioning,  “Are you a Man then? Are you a Woodsman? Or are you a shape-shifter like Beorn? Can you change into a bear like he ca–”

“Slow down, child, I am happy to answer your questions – that is if you leave enough time between them for me to speak.” An honest smile was upon Bilbo's kindly face, so curious this child was and not one bit afraid of asking questions, “To start, I am a Hobbit – though most seem to refer to us as Halflings – and as far as I know we have no relations to either Beorn or Men.” 

“Halfling…,” now _that_ word was familiar. It was from an old light-hearted children's story – of simple beings that lived in peace, one that he had adored since he had first heard it. Staring in new wonderment at the _perian_ , his mouth quickly ran away from him – questions he had longed to voice would at last have answers – and from a Halfling! 

Any misgivings that had lingered instantly vanished with the revelation of a real Hobbit standing but a few feet from him.

As his questions were answered, the child simply became more rambunctious, relaxing as he chattered on with the Halfling. And he would have continued to do so if he had not heard the familiar rumbling sound. 

Legolas immediately halted, turning his attention to the source. Seeing the flushed cheeks of the perian, he could feel his own cheeks warm. He had been such a horrible host, not even offering a drink to the weary men.

He would have to fix that immediately.

~ o0o ~

The grumble of a complaining stomach halted the barrage of eager questions. Which they were rather thankful for – by Mahal it seemed as if the elf had not even been _breathing_ at one point – instead turning towards a rather flustered hobbit. 

The small child looked especially startled, only for it to give away to determination. They watched uncertainly as the elf turned back, a new purpose clear in the light steps, only to pause near the large beech. A white hand briefly patted the rough bark before leaning down to retrieve a previously unnoticed lump of fabric, hidden under the tree's large, twisted roots. 

It was a plain white handkerchief, albeit a large one, laden tightly with some type of pastry – if the sweet smell was any indication, which only became more noticeable as the elfling hastened back towards them. 

An impish smile, “Promise you will not tell Ada?” 

Charmed and amused by it, they quickly agreed, hunger once more making itself known. 

The various sweets – primarily biscuits and the occasional small cake – were handed out, and with relief in their hearts, the Company ate. Small though the pastries were, they savored them, both for the marvelous taste and to keep themselves from becoming sick. Experience had taught them to never eat quickly or overindulge after days with little to no food. 

Watching them, Legolas felt a tendril of compassion fill him. Familiar determination to assist welled, and so he provided all he could at the moment. And if he was already pondering a way to convince his Ada to help, well, no one said that was not in his reach. 

The rotund one – who had long finished the small sweet, and was eyeing the remainder of them – was kindly offered another large biscuit. 

Grateful, if slightly unsatisfied, a large hand reached for it, an answering grin upon his round face. 

“Thank you, sweet child you have saved us from starvation!” Bombur looked suspiciously close to embracing the child, but after eying his willowy frame decided against doing so. Instead he offered his hand to shake – a gesture of Men, but it had long been adopted by the wandering dwarves – and after only a look of bewilderment, a slim hand was enveloped in his own. 

It was then that a dark-haired elf spotted them, and more importantly, their close proximity to the elfling. 

Now, normally the elf would have quietly alerted his fellows, and they would have then quietly one of the warriors in attendance. Wine, however, had clouded his judgment and his first instinct was not to handle it calmly, but instead to alert the whole feast, loudly.

_“Ennas sad hadhodrim na i Neth Ernil!”_

Startled, Bombur reared back, hand still tightly gripping the smaller, dragging along the slight form out of the protective elvish magic. 

The clearing went dark, magic whisking the elves away from the perceived danger, all save one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **_Sindarin_ : **  
>  
> 
> **_Perian_ – Halfling/Hobbit **
> 
> **_Ennas sad hadhodrim na i Neth Ernil_ – There are dwarves near the Young Prince!**  
>  
> 
> Excuse my Sindarin, I've been using a variety of sources including a translator and various dictionaries.
> 
> Word Count: 3, 438

**Author's Note:**

> This spiraled from a thought of Legolas's age to this.This fic will take many liberties and includes my take on Legolas and his family. I know others have their own ideas of him and I know my version of him isn't everyone's version. I respect your opinion and ideas, so please respect mine.


End file.
